


Starfragment

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ficlet, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-20
Updated: 2017-06-20
Packaged: 2018-11-16 09:42:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11250522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: For his beloved Maglor’s sake, Eönwë doesn’t wish his other charge to fade.





	Starfragment

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Silmarillion or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

Though he has no need to eat, he joins his guests for the evening meal. He has no servants, having never had a need for them, but Kanafinwë drifts about with self-appointed duty, bringing different plates and glasses to the long table draped in white. Nelyafinwë helps, mechanically and ineffectually, accomplishing little but appearing to aide Kanafinwë nonetheless. By the time Eönwë’s reached his seat, everything is set; there’s nothing left for him to do. Kanafinwë rarely leaves him any. Kanafinwë affords him a charming smile as the three of them sit, and Eönwë dips his head in gratitude. 

He can eat, if he chooses, and does for this. He enjoys the sparkling champagne and the light salad Kanafinwë’s prepared. Eönwë always enjoys Kanafinwë’s meals, but then, he’s rarely had occasion to sample others’ talents. Nelyafinwë seems to have no complaints. But nor does he have compliments; he eats in silence, as he often does, staring despondently down at his plate. Eönwë can remember a time when he was only a young flame, blazing through the valley with bristling life and vigor. He was wild and beautiful. The scars that now mar his face don’t diminish that beauty, but the sorrow in his eyes does. 

At least Eönwë knows he made the right decision. Seeing Nelyafinwë’s silence, feeling it at his side, reinforces that. Kanafinwë shifts uneasily at his other elbow and makes a point of conversation, drawing Eönwë to him and asking, “And where were you today?”

“Speaking to another Vala on an urgent matter,” Eönwë responds, though he doesn’t elaborate, and Kanafinwë nods without inquiring more—elves are rarely privy to such dialogue. As Kanafinwë slips a sliced strawberry between his rosy lips, Eönwë asks, “And how was my songbird?”

Kanafinwë smiles warmly around his fork, then withdraws it to answer, “Well.” His sincerity gives Eönwë great pleasure, more so when he adds, “Although I do so miss you when you are gone.”

Eönwë returns, “I apologize if I have neglected you.”

And Kanafinwë releases a chiming laugh, chirping, “You never do.” 

Kanafinwë lifts his free hand from beneath the table to lay over Eönwë’s, Kanafinwë’s slender digits weaving between his own. It makes Eönwë _feel_ things that he never could have imagined before this gift: Kanafinwë in his custody, his home. By his side. He lifts Kanafinwë’s hand to his lips and places a tender kiss across the back, promising, “If there is anything you ever wish for, you only need to tell me so.”

Kanafinwë’s smile never falters. But a familiar sadness does flicker through his deep eyes, and they shift, ever so slightly, across the table. Nelyafinwë doesn’t seem to notice. Eönwë waits for a request, but Kanafinwë doesn’t give him one, merely returns to eating, and clinking his champagne glass lightly against Eönwë’s own.

* * *

When dinner ends, Nelyafinwë leaves swiftly. He used to ask permission first, but Eönwë dismissed the need for that. Though he’s accepted his task in guarding his kinslayers, he has no wish to enslave them. Though the other Valar seem unable to understand it, Eönwë knows they’ve both suffered enough. 

Nelyafinwë suffers still. His coppery hair disappears around the corner as Kanafinwë rises to begin collecting dishes. Eönwë stacks his own atop the piles, and Kanafinwë quietly tells him, “Please, do not take it too harshly.”

Eönwë doesn’t need to ask what Kanafinwë means. He sighs only, “I do not mean to prolong his punishment.”

“This is no punishment,” Kanafinwë answers simply. As always, Eönwë is relieved by it—his songbird he wishes to trap least of all. Kanafinwë continues around the table as he speaks. “Perhaps this was meant so, instead of simply sending us to Mandos’ Halls, but I assure you it is not. We are quarantined for our own good, and we know this; we know what harm we have done the world, and what we might do still if left to our own devices.”

“So you are merely imprisoned,” Eönwë decides.

Kanafinwë counters, “Valinor is no prison. And neither are your halls.”

Having consolidated the dishes, Kanafinwë moves to take them, but Eönwë puts a hand over his first. Squeezing lightly, Eönwë promises, “I do not wish your brother to fade. I will do everything within my power to stop it.”

Kanafinwë smiles thinly, but this time it’s a sad, waning thing. He averts his gaze and whispers, “I fear it might be inevitable.” Eönwë’s chest clenches at the very thought—it always irks him to think of how _fragile_ these lovely but delicate creatures are. Kanafinwë heavily tells him, “We have failed our father’s oath.” Then Kanafinwë lifts his eyes again, and he catches Eönwë’s to explain, “I have found new purpose in you. ...But Maitimo has none. And that is not your fault. You are very kind to us. Kinder than we deserve.” He lifts his single stack, balancing it gracefully and turning for the kitchen. 

Eönwë stops him with a gentle hand on his forearm. Eönwë murmurs, “Promise me you will never fade.”

A light shines through Kanafinwë’s eyes, and he leans in to kiss Eönwë’s cheek. Then he moves away to continue on his path, and Eönwë watches him go, hoping Mandos makes the right decision.

* * *

Only in this form does Eönwë need _rest_ , but he so often wears it now that sleep has become commonplace. He still needs less than his charges, and he often lies awake with Kanafinwë peacefully asleep in his arms. Other times, he joins his songbird in dreams, and they soar together through the wide world. 

He’s woken from that by a gentle push against his shoulder, and his eyes flicker open to see Arien’s first light spilling across Kanafinwë’s handsome face. Solely on instinct and no clear reason, Eönwë nestles closer to rub his nose against Kanafinwë’s. The sensation tickles, and Kanafinwë chuckles quietly, then whispers, “I heard the bell ring for the door, my love. Shall I go answer it?”

“No,” Eönwë murmurs, and pushes up in bed, rubbing the last of sleep from his eyes. Kanafinwë rises too, then slips out from beneath the covers, padding over to fetch the silken dressing robe tossed over the chair of Eönwë’s desk. Eönwë slept in white robes that he cinches tighter as he climbs out. He heads to their bedroom door and says, “I will see to it.” But he isn’t particularly surprised when Kanafinwë follows him out into the hall. 

The entrance is two floors down, but they walk swiftly. Eönwë thinks, not for the first time, that his estate is much too large, even if the other Valar encouraged it to be so, modeled after Elven estates—and he reminds himself that Fëanáro’s was far larger, and that sprawling space is what his guests are used to and deserve. So he keeps it. 

He turns into the foyer, still up one floor but connect by a grand staircase that reaches down towards the main door. Just as they come into view, the sound of porcelain shattering echoes off the walls. Eönwë pauses, Kanafinwë at his side, and stares down at where Nelyafinwë has answered the door. He evidently had a plate of toast in his hand, but it’s met with the floor. Nelyafinwë doesn’t seem to notice. He’s gaping at those that stand before him.

Clearly, Mandos has granted Eönwë’s request. For Findekáno, son of Ñolofinwë, stands behind him on the threshold. And Nelyafinwë eyes him for a long moment, until he breathes, “My Nelyo,” and Nelyafinwë goes flying forward.

He wraps his arms tight around Findekáno. Findekáno holds him back, letting out a broken laugh, clutching as Nelyafinwë clings to him, the way Kanafinwë has to Eönwë in moments of passion. He can hear Kanafinwë’s breath caught behind him.

Kanafinwë asks, sounding awed, “What has happened?”

“I have asked for Findekáno’s release,” Eönwë answers, only to turn and quantify, “Not fully, of course—he could not be granted that. But he could be given to my custody, only him, only one, for otherwise I feared that I could not sustain your brother, and my kind has no desire to see another of yours wither away. There has been enough loss. In my keep, at least, there is to be what life there may.”

Kanafinwë looks at him, then down to where Nelyafinwë and Findekáno are still embracing. Eönwë can hear Nelyafinwë’s broken sobs and Findekáno’s soothing words, even from this distance. Mandos’ black eyes catch Eönwë’s, and he nods his ashen head once; Eönwë does the same. Then Mandos retreats like a swift smoke, gone in an instant, and Eönwë’s doors are closed again, a new charge left inside. 

“We will need to have rooms made up for him,” Eönwë muses.

Kanafinwë replies, “There will be little need for it, I assure you; he will spend all his time with Nelyo. They’ve been sneaking in through one another’s windows since they were small.”

So Eönwë heard. There’s something wavering about Kanafinwë’s voice that makes him turn, and he sees tears prickling in Kanafinwë’s eyes. He lifts one hand to deftly wipe them away, and he quietly admits, “This was another reason why I wished him to be happy, my songbird. I could see how his pain hurt you.”

Kanafinwë whispers, “Thank you,” and drifts forward into his arms. 

Eönwë holds Kanafinwë close. And he promises again, “For you, _anything._ ”


End file.
